


Something Blue

by champagneleftie, MinilocIsland



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Basically porn with some initial plot, M/M, Wedding Guests AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-15 06:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15407247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/champagneleftie/pseuds/champagneleftie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinilocIsland/pseuds/MinilocIsland
Summary: Isak has grown out of getting blackout drunk. He's also way too grown up for wasted makeout sessions he can barely remember.Until Eskild’s bachelor party last weekend, that is.Too bad Eskild’s hot new colleague Even was there to witness the whole mess. And, even worse: now Isak has to survive an entire wedding in his presence.Or: the wedding guests rom-com AU that our dearest Tina deserves for her birthday.





	Something Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nofeartina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofeartina/gifts).



> When we first started talking about writing something together for Tina’s birthday, it quickly became a mash-up of different things and tropes we know that she loves - including mutual pining, lots and lots of tension, and of course the well-known ”I’ve-known-you-for-some-time-but-I-never-noticed-how-insanely-HOT-you-are”-trope (yes it is a Thing). And out of that, this wedding guests/rom-com AU was born. 
> 
> So, for a wonderful friend and an amazing writer - HAPPY BIRTHDAY TINA! We love you! <3  
> Hope you enjoy your present!
> 
> (And a huge thanks to Immy for beta reading! <3)

This is what Isak doesn’t get: How did he, the tallest one out of all five of them, end up squeezed between Magnus and Vilde in the backseat?

Actually, he knows exactly why he’s the one who has to suffer. That doesn’t mean he finds it fair.

Apparently, weddings make both Magnus and Vilde crazy.

When Eva had pulled up to the curb outside their apartment building, they had been so busy sucking face that they hadn’t even noticed the car until Eva had leaned a little too hard on the horn. Then she’d declared that they were to be kept apart for the entirety of the car ride. At least.

Isak had tried to argue that he should get to ride shotgun then. That Jonas, who’s literally an entire head shorter than him _and_ doesn’t have as broad shoulders, should naturally take the middle seat – but apparently, Jonas’ boyfriend privileges overrode all that.

Apparently _,_ Eva’s car is not a democracy.

It’s also very, very small. As in, Isak didn’t even know they made cars this small. He’s already getting a cramp in his thigh, and they haven’t even properly left Oslo yet. Because of course, the tiny car has a tiny trunk, way too small to fit all their stuff, so if he doesn’t pull up his thigh just like this the corner of Magnus’ bag will jut into it whenever he leans across to touch Vilde. What has he even packed, a knife? Rocks? _And why do they have to keep touching all the freaking time?_

Magnus is, of course, completely fucking oblivious to Isak’s pain and sacrifice. He’s just going on and on and _on_ about the bachelor party they threw Eskild last week, like both he and Jonas weren’t there, and like the girls haven’t already heard all about it. Like, how much can there be to say about a party that happened a _week_ ago? Seriously, Magnus? It was a good party – a party with Eskild always is – but do they have to keep rehashing it? _Again?_

He’d rather not think about it at all.  

Which, on the one hand, is helped by the fact that he doesn’t exactly, ehm, _remember_ that much of it? He remembers coming straight from work, catching up with the rest of them at the third stop of their bar crawl and doing at least two – or was it three? – rounds of shots with Eskild and Linn, trying to catch up to their buzz. And he remembers waking up on Magnus and Vilde’s couch, feeling like his skull was going to shatter if he so much as blinked. And between those two points… it’s all more or less a blur.

And it’s exactly that… _blurriness_ that makes it so hard to let go. He’s had the same images flashing in his brain since last weekend – just moments, seconds really. Disjointed fragments of an evening which he’s been trying to fit into some sort of narrative, some sort of coherent picture of his night that he can explain away and discard.

Fuck. He thought he had grown out of getting blackout drunk.

It would be one thing if they had been at a house party, or hanging out somewhere with their group alone, but Isak is quite certain that his embarrassment was more or less public. The rest of them had started out in some dump chosen solely for its cheap beer, but by the time Isak had joined them, they had already moved on to the London Pub. And, pieced together from the fragments of memories scattered across his brain, he’s pretty sure that their next and perhaps final stop was Elsker.

He wouldn’t expect any less from Eskild’s bachelor party, after all.

”Can you believe there were two guys actually dancing together on top of the _bar?_ Without _shirts?”_ Magnus all but squeaks.

Isak rolls his eyes. This is exactly why he hasn’t taken Magnus to a gay bar in the almost ten years they’ve known each other. Obviously, he should have kept himself sober enough to prevent this.

It’s a little too late for that now, unfortunately.

Unfortunately, their little group that night had included several people outside Isak’s comfort zone. Sure, he knows a few of Eskild’s oldest friends well enough, but this level of drunken stupor would still have been awkward around them.

And very awkward around the few participants he doesn’t know that well at all.

That’s the furthest his thoughts take him, before he’s interrupted by Vilde’s shrill, excited voice, way too close to his left ear.

”Lucky thing he broke up with Sonja, then! Don’t you think him and Noora would look really good together?” She smiles, that enthusiastic grin that usually sends Isak running fast in the opposite direction.

No such chance in this car, though.

Plus, Isak’s been fed up with this particular conversation topic for days as it is. He already knows what Magnus is about to say, before he’s even opened his mouth.

”Yeah!” Magnus’ eyebrows go all the way up to the roof of the car, and his smile is almost dopey. ”He’s so tall. And hot! And his _smile!_ Am I right, Isak?”

Isak rolls his eyes. This is not the first time, and certainly not the last, that by the sole virtue of being gay, he’s somehow assigned the role of judge on straight guys’ looks.

And sure. Even is hot. Very hot, actually. Isak definitely noticed that the first time he met him, about half a year ago, when he was dragged along to an after-work beer to meet all of Eskild’s colleagues at the high school where he’d just started working as a counsellor.

But, he has to admit that the flustered, awkward image Even made last weekend, at what very obviously was his first visit to a gay bar, wasn’t especially attractive at all. Isak’s seen it way too many times before. Straight guys who are enthusiastic at the _idea_ of going, but who, when it comes down to it, don’t know how to handle the reality of two guys making out in front of them.

That thought makes an unbidden memory flash before Isak’s eyes.

Hot breath against his mouth, wet lips on his, a hand in his hair.

It’s vague, and very short, but it’s enough to make his vision go black for a split second, and make his gut clench in a not entirely uncomfortable way.

 _Shit._ What even was that.

“Hello? Earth to Isak?” Magnus’ hand waves in front of him, far too close to be comfortable. He swats it away, almost on instinct.

“What?”

“I said, too bad we lost each other so early on at that club. I’d really have liked to see you _in action_ at that kind of place. You know, I’ve never seen you in your element for real, Isak!”

 _Oh god._ Where even to begin. First of all, he can’t really say that places like Elsker _are_ his element. Sure, it gives a sense of freedom and relief not to have to reflect on what anybody would think if he were to kiss another guy on the dancefloor, or by the bar, and that will probably never fade. The novelty of the place as such, though, has worn off a long time ago. It’s not like he does hook-ups that often anymore.

It’s embarrassingly rare nowadays, to be honest.

Which is probably why these flashes of _something,_ something that must have happened last weekend are making him react like this. Why else would he feel so affected by an interaction he barely remembers?

Lost in thought, he hasn’t even registered that Magnus and Vilde now are leaning towards each other across his lap, disgustingly close. He scrunches his face, only to see the reflection of Eva’s smug grin in the rearview mirror.

“Don’t even try,” she smirks. “You know as well as I do that weddings are the ideal place to meet somebody.”

As Magnus and Vilde’s faces come together right in front of Isak’s chest, she adds, “And both Jonas and I know that you’re just dying to meet your one true love. We know what a giant fluff ball you are deep inside. Right?”

And Jonas, whipped traitor that he is, just adjusts his sunglasses and smirks at him over his shoulder. “Very deep inside.”

Isak rolls his eyes at them, at Magnus and Vilde making pouty faces at each other over the fact that they aren't making out _right this minute,_ at the honestly ludicrous idea that Eskild’s wedding would give him any opportunity at all to “meet somebody”. He rolls his eyes, and does his best to ignore the tiny, tiny spark of hope and preemptive disappointment flickering in his chest.

 

* * *

 

The moment they pull up on the gravel circuit in front of the old mansion-turned-hotel and wedding venue, Noora comes bursting out the front door, Linn trailing behind her. She's beaming, calling out greetings to the other guests who are milling about on the lawn, the  picture of a generous, relaxed hostess, as in control of the festivities as of the red lipstick she's already wearing.

Isak isn't fooled.

The thing about living four people in a three bedroom apartment for two years is that you become close. _Family_ levels of close. _Of course I'll sort out your wedding Eskild, despite the fact that it’s in less than a month_ levels of close. And the thing about being that close with someone… Well. You learn to see through the mask they put up when they don't want anyone to know that they're panicking. So when Noora strides over to them and embraces Eva and Vilde enthusiastically but carefully, so as not to mess with her Marilyn Monroe curls, Isak has already seen the glint in her eye. Has already exchanged looks of warning and wary with Linn. And all of a sudden he's 17 again, and Noora has gone into big sister mode.

So if nothing else, he’ll definitely be kept too busy to have a chance to notice the other guests, much less hook up with any of them.

“You're late,” Noora confirms, as she hugs him hello.

“Traffic,” he responds, needlessly, because of course she's been following the traffic patterns out of the city on her phone, texting Vilde for regular updates on their position.

Linn fills in the blanks as he moves on to hug her as well.

“Eskild decided that his only responsibilities today are to look amazing, drink champagne, and repeat after the officiant, so Noora is… a bit stressed,” she mumbles, diplomatic but already visibly exhausted.

As if on cue, Noora starts rattling off a list of tasks.

“We've finished decorating the dining hall, the chairs are set up for the ceremony, and the programs are there as well…” She turns to Eva. “You have the bubble blowers, right?” she demands, and behind her, Isak can see Jonas discreetly rolling his eyes at the intensity. But Eva just puts an arm around her waist, pulling her into a half hug.

“They're in the trunk,” she soothes, “but don't worry. You know that Eskild might act like he cares about all that stuff, but really, as long as everyone is here, and happy, he's not going to give a shit about the bubble blowers, or if the napkins are the right shade of blue, or whatever. And neither do we.” She presses a quick kiss to Noora’s cheek, and Isak can almost see Noora exhale, her shoulders sinking several centimeters. “As long as there's booze and music.”

Noora lets out something between an annoyed huff and a giggle.

“Right,” she says. “But Isak –”

She's interrupted by a car sliding almost silently into the parking lot, black, sleek. It glides past them, slipping into the only available spot.

A car door clicks open, and from afar, Isak watches as Even exits. Or rather, as he unfolds, comes into view gradually – soft hair giving way to long neck, sloping shoulders, arms. He pushes the door shut as he exits, throwing his suit bag over one shoulder, and Isak can feel himself staring, can't stop himself from just taking him in: jet-black wayfarers, slim fit white t-shirt, sharp jawline. Legs that could cross oceans, stretching out as long as they can go as he positively saunters over to their little group.

He really does have a great smile.

_Fucking hell, Magnus._

He should be over this; this crushing on your straight friends-thing (or crushing on the straight coworker of your friend and former roommate, but semantics). Can't he just meet someone who's _both_ available and interesting enough to date, for once? Eskild’s bachelor party had been a veritable smorgasbord of not-so-straight guys, why couldn't he just develop a crush on one of them instead?

 _Well, you've already tried dating all the ones you could possibly be interested in,_ a little voice in his head points out, sounding suspiciously like Eskild himself. _And you_ did _make out with someone, it's not my fault that you can't remember who._

Even flips his shades up on top of his head as he comes up to them, inserting himself into their little group, right next to Isak. Up close, Isak can see the smile lines by his eyes, how the blue of them rivals the spotless summer sky.

He must be staring, because Even shoots him a twinkling look, something tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Hi guys,” he greets them, receiving a chorus of hellos in return. “Hi Isak.” And with his free arm he pulls him into a hug – not a casual, sideways hug; a proper, if one-armed, hug – pulls Isak in with his entire body, chest to chest. Rests his cheek against Isak's temple.

Isak freezes.

Why is Even hugging him? They don't know each other! They've met, like, twice! Does Isak _look_ like the kind of guy who hugs strangers?! And, tinged with bitter disappointment: does Even think he hugs and kisses everyone just because he's gay?

He wouldn't be the first.

He extracts himself from Even as quickly as possible, punctuating it with a light slap on his shoulder: there, that's done, let's not do it again.

But he can't deny that Even's smell, the weight of his hand on his shoulder…

Another image flashes through his mind: hands on his hips, his neck, in his hair, the ghost of a scent he can't quite recall.

When Isak pulls away, the lines around Even's eyes have smoothed out, his smile diluted with bewilderment, and he holds his arm out for a second too long, like he doesn't know what to do with it.

Then Magnus steps right across their little circle, and smothers Even in a bear hug of his own. Like they're best friends. Like they haven't met just once before.

No matter how long they're friends, Isak doesn't think he'll ever truly understand Magnus.

But it seems to do the trick, and soon Even's hugged them all – Jonas, Noora and Linn who he's met before, and Vilde and Eva who he's never seen – and he's back to smiling again. With the enthusiastic help of Vilde he starts piecing together their long shared history and connections to Eskild. Soon, Isak has convinced himself that he probably just imagined the temporary drop in exuberance.

 

* * *

 

Noora generously gives them a few minutes before she starts making impatient noises again – probably mostly for Even's benefit – but when she grabs Isak's arm, he finds that he's more relieved than annoyed at the interruption. Even is chatting with Eva and Jonas now, and technically, Isak is part of Vilde and Linn’s conversation, but he can't seem to follow what they're talking about. The feeling of Even's hug lingers, mixes with the faint memories of that other, unknown body against his. Without even realizing that he's doing it, he keeps trying to catch a whiff of Even's scent, and each time he catches himself something in him tips a little more off balance.

So when Noora pulls him out of the group, telling him that he has to get changed and is he _absolutely sure_ he has the rings? – he's happy to go.

Unfortunately, the solitude of his single-bed room gives his thoughts even more space to roam free. He undresses slowly, folding up his jeans and t-shirt in favor of the black suit he last wore to the baptism of his cousin Elise’s daughter three years ago. He weighs the black bowtie in his right hand, trying to decide if it’s right for the occasion, but finding it hard to concentrate.

What _was_ all that about.

His gaze falls on on the folded-up socks in his bag. Maybe it would be for the best to change into clean underwear as well. Not that he has any _ideas,_ or _plans,_ or whatever, but the air in the car had gotten quite clammy, in the end.

Ten minutes later, he steps out into the corridor, absentmindedly closing the door while he pats the right-hand pocket of his suit, making sure the little ring box is still tucked safely inside. As the lock clicks, he hears a similar sound somewhere to his right, making him turn his head.

What he sees there, just a few meters away, is enough to make his legs go weak.

In front of his own door, adjacent to Isak’s, stands Even, dressed in a slim black suit and looking more like a model than anybody Isak has ever seen in real life.

His eyes travel along Even's body completely of their own volition. From shiny shoes, up long legs in black pants and a perfectly fitted jacket. His soft hair is styled in a complicated-looking swoop, and Even pats it distractedly as he pulls the door shut behind him, runs his hand over his long neck, and Isak feels like he's going to explode.

It feels like he’s been punched in the gut and can't draw breath. Like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs, leaving them dry and shriveled up like raisins.

He knew that Even was hot, but how did he never realize that he was _this_ hot?

Even must hear the click of Isak's lock at the right after Isak hears the click of his, because he looks up, and smiles that blinding smile again, and Isak could swear that his knees are literally buckling beneath him.

Even bites his bottom lip, drags it between his teeth for an everlasting second, and Isak feels his hands starting to drip with sweat, a drop dislodging from his neck and traveling the entire length of his back. Holy, holy fuck.

“Oh look, we match,” Even says, pulling a little at his bow tie, and Isak has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from fucking _giggling_ at him.

 _What_ is wrong with him?! He hasn't reacted this much to being in the presence of a hot guy since he was a teenager.

Actually, when he thinks about it, he doesn't think he's ever reacted like this.

He manages to press out a weak, “yeah,” and tries to make his lips recreate something resembling a casual smile.

He can see that Even is about to say something more, and he just knows that he won't be able to handle it, whatever it might be. If he's forced to make small talk with Even right now he's definitely going to combust.

“I have to go,” he blurts out, spinning around as he does, but not quickly enough that he doesn't catch how Even's face melts into bewilderment. “See you later!” He hopes that the panic in his voice is only noticeable to himself.

It's when he's safely alone in the elevator, leaning a cheek against the cool mirror and trying to get a grip on himself again, that a horrifying thought hits him out of nowhere. Magnus might have missed his sloppy, (almost) forgettable makeout – but what if Even didn't?

He scrunches the heels of his hands against his eyes. _Oh god._ Of course. That must be the reason for his amused look earlier. The meaningful smile. _Of course_ Even must have witnessed Isak’s drunken embarrassment.

Isak knows pity when he sees it.

 

* * *

 

How he makes it to the ceremony down by the little lake, he’ll never know. It’s more like he suddenly finds himself standing there next to the birch leaf arc, Noora on his left, Linn by his right. Eskild doesn’t seem to notice anything or anyone besides Malik, both of them in light grey suits, smiling dopily at each other. Other than that, all the people seated on the foldable chairs on the grassy lawn mostly resemble a grey mass, his vision too blurred to make out a single face among them.

Isak vaguely registers the officiant saying something about _being there for each other_ and _love conquers all,_  but that’s about all he can process. It’s like seeing Even in his suit and realising the full extent of this mess has opened  the floodgates, and now memories are starting to come back in full force. Phantom feelings of hands against his back, drawing him in closer, of lips and a hint of teeth against the side of his neck. He absent-mindedly lifts his hand to stroke it, as if the touch itself could help him remember. _Fuck._ He can only imagine what it must have looked like to Even. Isak, not able to help himself and making out like a teenager in the club. He can feel himself starting to blush, as a sharp jab to his left side almost punches the air out of his lungs.

“What the -”

He looks up, only to see everyone staring at him. He had no idea there were even this many people here. There must be over a hundred guests – everyone silent, expectant, and looking at him. Another jab to his side makes him turn his head to face Noora, irritable expression all over her face.

“The _rings,_ Isak!” she hisses.

_Oh right._

Clumsily, he manages to produce the little black box from his left pocket and hand it to her, realizing from the absolute silence around them that everyone must have been waiting for him for a while.

As Noora turns on her heel to hand the ring box over to the officiant, everybody in the crowd thankfully averts their gaze away from Isak and onto the happy couple underneath the birch arc.

Everybody but one.

As Isak lifts his chin to look out over the crowd once more, he immediately locks eyes with Even. Even, who is positively staring at him from where he’s sitting in the back, the blue of his eyes visible all the way from Isak’s position.

How can he not have seen him there before? A head taller than everyone else, quiff swaying elegantly above the people surrounding him. Isak might still have a hard time making out the faces of the rest of the crowd, but Even’s features are clear like crystal, jawline chiseled like marble and eyes piercing into Isak’s.

Isak feels like he’s about to die.

Why does he keep doing this to himself? Why can’t he get into his head that this is not going to happen? Drunkenly making out with someone last weekend might have been a fluke during his far too long drought, but dreaming about something similar happening with _Even_ is just pushing it too far.

_It doesn’t matter how hot he is, Isak. If you’re getting some tonight, it’s probably gonna be with like… Linn. Or Chris. She still might have a thing for you, after all._

Well, no. Even is the one who’s straight here, that’s for sure.

Suddenly, he notices movement all around, and looking up, he sees people rising from their chairs, cheers erupting everywhere for the newlyweds. The ceremony must be over. Eskild is now a married man – and Isak didn’t even notice.

He follows Noora and Linn down the aisle like in a trance, hugging Eskild and Malik and accepting a relieved kiss on the cheek from Noora, who finally seems to be loosening up a bit now that the ceremony is over, before she disappears in the crowd and leaves him on his own, bewildered as to what’s supposed to happen next.

“Cheers,” a deep voice says, close to his left ear. Bewildered, he looks up at Even, who smiles so brightly it’s almost blinding. He hands Isak a glass of champagne. Accepting it – what else could he do? – Isak tries to smile back, tries to maintain some sort of composure. The only thought churning in his head is _don’t. Stop it. Quit it._

But how could he find it in himself to look away?

Eyes twinkling, white teeth shining in the sunlight, Even raises his glass, likely expecting Isak to reciprocate.

But Isak can’t move. His gaze falls to Even’s right hand, holding on to the foot of his champagne glass. His _fingers,_ the longest, most slender fingers Isak has ever laid his eyes upon. Veins meandering up the back of his hand and to his wrists, disappearing up into the sleeves of his black suit jacket.

Then Even, apparently tired of waiting, lifts his glass up to drink. When he puts his pink, full lips against the rim, Isak’s heart almost stops.

Those lips. He knows those lips.

Not only because he’s met Even before. No.

In a flash, everything is clear as day. He _knows_ how those lips feel against his own, and he knows the wetness of that tongue, now swiping across Even’s lower lip to catch the last drop of champagne.

And those hands – how they felt against the back of his neck, drawing him closer, how they tousled into his hair and pulled a little. And Even’s hair. He remembers. How it felt to drag his own fingers through those dark blonde, coarse yet soft locks, and how Even’s breath hitched against his neck as he himself returned the grasp.

An involuntary gasp escapes him at the realization.

_What the hell._

Even looks up, meeting his eyes once again, and the expression in his eyes is both hopeful, expectant, and – disappointed somehow?

How is Isak supposed to know what it means? Does Even remember? _What_ does he remember? Was he as drunk as Isak was?

He must have been. He is _straight,_  for fuck’s sake. Not only because he’s had a girlfriend for as long as anyone can probably count. No, most of all because Even’s behaviour at Elsker was enough for Isak to tell. The flustered, embarrassed image he made, stealing almost frightened glances at the dance floor and the half-naked guys crowding at the bar.

Was he just curious? Is that it?

Being an experiment could maybe be okay with Isak if he never had to think about the guy again, but it’s hard to deny that this is _Even._ Even, with his perfect hair and long legs and full lips and that totally _magnetic_ stare. His blue eyes, piercing into Isak’s, like there’s a question in them.

Isak can think of a few things he’d like to ask Even himself.

He must have been standing here staring for a good minute now, because Even looks down at his shoes, and then up to the side, and Isak realizes that if he doesn’t say anything now, Even will probably start walking away. Who just stands there and stares at somebody without saying anything for minutes, anyway?

Well, Isak could imagine doing that. But it’s not like Even has to know.

“So,” he starts, and Even whips his head around again to fasten his stare on Isak right away. Like he’s waiting for him to continue talking. Isak tries to think fast – just say something, _anything, he’ll think you’re an idiot_ – when something stumbles into his field of vision from the right.

“Even! There you are!” Isak vaguely recognizes the fifty-something, balding man in a grey suit flinging his arm around Even’s shoulders – the assistant principal at his and Eskild’s school, if he remembers correctly. Not somebody close enough to have been at the bachelor party, at least. Hopefully.

Even’s smile is nothing but polite. “Aksel! Nice to see you here.”

“You too! Next time I hope I get to toast at your wedding! Where’s Sonja, anyway?”

Even opens his mouth as if to say something, as the clinking of a glass interrupts them.

“Dinner time! Everyone, please follow me!” Noora’s voice is loud and just on the right side of shrill for Isak to know that her duties aren’t over yet.

For once, he wishes Noora would allow herself a drink. God knows _he_ needs it.

He hastily downs his glass of champagne, and when he’s finished, everyone has started migrating up the grassy slope leading up to the hotel, Even included. Thankful for the momentary pause, he draws a deep breath and starts trailing after the crowd.

An arm comes up around his shoulders, and he turns his head to find a smiling Jonas to his left.

“Dude. Are you okay? You look a little out of it.”

Isak clears his throat, trying to let his legs keep up with his best friend’s, but it’s hard to focus on Even’s retreating back and watch out for bumps in the grass at the same time.

“Yeah. It’s just…” He scrambles his head for a fitting lie. “Beautiful. Romantic. You know?”

“Yeah…?” The suspicion on Jonas’ face tells him that he has to do better than that. “Are you sure you’re okay, Isak?”

Isak is sure. Positive. “Just tired from the drive. All the sun.”

“Okay.” Jonas eyes him again as they enter the dining hall, where the seats are beginning to fill up at the tables scattered around the room. Typical Eskild, deciding on his wedding on such short notice that they didn’t even have time to make a proper seating plan, no matter how loudly Noora objected to foregoing it. “But you know that there is red lipstick all over your left cheek, right?”

 _Fucking Noora._ “Keep me a seat,” Isak warns Jonas as he hastily shuffles off to the bathroom.

After forcefully scrubbing the red stain off his cheek, rubbing it down to the point where it’s almost painful to get rid of the last spots, he splashes his face with cold water, trying to get a grasp on it all.

_Why. Why me._

If Even had to drunkenly try making out with another guy, _why_ did he have to choose Isak, of all the men in that club? Not that Isak minds. Not at all. But if he’s honest, he’d prefer it if he wasn’t fooled into getting any hopes up. It’s all the more painful to know that there’s nothing in it for him. Not really.

Aksel’s words echo in his head, a bitter reminder ringing to them. _Next time. Sonja._

Of course. Guys like Even might experiment all they want, but when it comes down to it, what do they choose? In the end, why would somebody like _him_ not want the perfect life? A wholesome family, wife, kids, the easy way.

Not somebody like Isak.

He draws a deep breath and tries to ready himself for going out there again.

_Just stay away from him and you’ll be fine._

When he enters the dining hall, everyone else has already found a seat. A buzz of chatter surrounds him as he locates Jonas, sitting with Eva and two guys he recognizes as Eskild’s friend Markus and his boyfriend. Jonas looks up to catch his eye, shrugging his shoulders as if to say _sorry,_ but Isak just sighs. Who the hell is he gonna sit with now? There’s probably only room next to some boring aunt or whatever.

Maybe that’s just as well. There’s no use in getting any ideas, after all.

“Isak!” He turns his head to see Vilde waving with enthusiasm a couple of tables to the right, blonde hair swinging from side to side as she beckons him over. “Here! We saved you a seat!”

And that’s right. The only available seat left in the whole hall, next to Vilde and across from Noora. Who, of course, has the one person beside her that Isak just doesn’t know how to deal with right now.

Even.

 

* * *

 

Now, Isak wouldn’t say that he loves Vilde. Honestly, there are few people he’d actually say _I love you_ out loud to. His parents, nowadays. Jonas, Eva. Eskild. _Maybe_ Noora and Linn, if it was, like, a special occasion.

Vilde is pretty far down on that list.

But somehow, without him ever intending for it to happen, she’s become one of his best and oldest friends. One of the people in this world who knows him best of all, who’s been there for most of the past few years’ milestones, through graduations from Nissen and from university, moving from Kollektivet to his own place, getting his first job. They even celebrated their 25th birthdays with a joint party, the two of them and Eva.

None of that matters now.

Right now, Isak hates Vilde a little.

She probably thinks she’s being subtle with how she’s trying to pave the way for Even and Noora, drawing them into conversation with each other, dropping trivia about Noora and encouraging her to talk about her travel, her year in Berlin, the articles she’s starting to get published.

She fucking isn’t.

Fuck, _Eskild_ could probably see through her even from the head table, if he managed to tear his eyes from his shiny new husband (literally shiny: Isak wonders, and not for the first time, what those suits are actually made of). He’d probably even encourage her. But Noora and Even seem oblivious enough, smiling and making polite conversation. Even’s asking about her trip to Nairobi now, and does she have a link to the report she wrote about it, because it sounds just fascinating and he’d love to read it.

_Fucking hell, Vilde._

Rationally, he knows it’s not her fault. It’s just like Eskild told him, when his last ex – just weeks before he met Malik – went back to his girlfriend for the umpteenth time, leaving him heartbroken yet again: lots of guys kiss other guys, and sleep with other guys, but at the end of the day, they don’t want a relationship with a guy. At the end of the day, they’ll choose a girl.

And if that’s the case, well, Even couldn’t do better than Noora.

But it isn’t enough to quench the vague nausea that rises in him at the thought of seeing Noora and Even together, sweet and cuddly, holding hands, sitting on each others laps. Celebrating May 17th with them, New Years, birthdays. In his mind, he sees Even lean down, whisper something in Noora’s ear, kiss her neck, her secretive smile, and fuck, he might just be sick.

He tries to swallow it down, shifts a little in his seat, straightens his back. Tries to will himself to get it together, at least act like he’s having a good time. He is a best man after all, and probably supposed to act kind of like a host. He turns to the guest on his other side – some friend of Malik’s that he’s never met before – and tries asking her about their history, but he doesn’t even register if she responds. Because the moment he does that, the moment he turns in his chair, his leg somehow comes in contact with something – _someone_ – underneath the table.

And across from him, Even looks up, and looks straight at him.

All of Isak’s insides turn to jelly as Even raises his eyebrows and smiles – just minutely, but secretive in a way that makes his hands go clammy and his toes tingle. He’s not sure if his feet are even touching the ground anymore, when Even winks – he _winks_ – and raises his glass in a toast.

How the _fuck_ is he supposed to know what this means.

He manages to raise his own glass, but it’s getting difficult to feel his fingers – whether it’s due to the emotional onslaught Even’s stare invokes, or the glass of champagne he downed before dinner, is hard to say – and he nearly misses his mouth as he tries to take a sip.

He doesn’t miss the amused, lopsided grin at the corner of Even’s mouth as he looks down at his plate, though. If he didn’t know better, he’d deem it almost fond.

After that, Even doesn’t look at him again, mostly due to a never-ending string of speeches – first from the grooms’ respective parents, best friends, and then the not-so-close relatives.

Even, the epitome of politeness, keeps his eyes fastened on the speakers the whole time, looking both concentrated and committed to listening, chin on his knuckles. As the temperature has risen during the course of dinner, Even has taken off his black suit jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. His white shirt stretches over his shoulders as he leans forward, face turned up front, profile sharp against the evening sun streaming in through the tall windows.

Isak is staring, he knows he is, but he decides to allow himself to indulge. Just for a little while. Just for tonight.

Who knows when he’ll get the opportunity again.

Even lifts his hands and claps as some cousin of Malik’s wraps up her speech, and the toastmaster stands up once again to announce that Eskild’s bridesmaid Noora would like to say a few words.

Suddenly, it hits Isak that the toastmaster asked him about his speech several weeks ago - and it’s completely slipped his mind.

His eyes dart over to Noora; and this is another occasion when he’s thankful for the years they’ve lived together, making them nearly able to read each other’s minds. She rolls her eyes, lifting her chin just enough that her blonde curls fall back a little, and mouths a _“fine”,_ as she stands up, clinging a neatly folded piece of paper to her chest.

She casts him a sideways glance, more resemblant of a death glare than anything, as she draws a deep breath and turns to face the crowd.

“On behalf of Eskild’s bridesmaid Linn and best man Isak, I would like to thank you all for coming here today,” she starts.

In the corner of his eye, Isak can see Even turn his face up to look at her, expression unreadable. A stray strand of hair has fallen down his forehead, and it must be due to the rising temperature in the hall that the top button of his shirt is open, his bow tie a little loose. Isak can’t tear his eyes away from the part of his collarbone that is visible, and his palms sweat a little at the sight. He could swear it’s getting hotter in here every second.

His gaze returns to the hair at Even’s temple, damp and slightly darker than the rest, when suddenly, without warning, Even turns his head and looks straight at him.

Isak’s insides turn to ice and burn like fire at the same time. Caught in the act like this, he should avert his eyes, but there’s something magnetic about Even’s stare that makes it impossible to look away; there’s not a trace of hesitation or embarrassment in there. And that’s when Isak feels it.

The slight pressure of a leg against his own under the table, just like before – but this time, it doesn’t let up, but comes closer, with more intent. And there is no doubt about who the leg belongs to this time – Even’s stare, darker by the second, doesn’t leave any room for questioning. Nor does the movement of the knee moving along his own as Even shifts in his chair – just a little, but enough for Isak to see, and to _feel._

There’s no way this is happening by accident, that much is clear. He feels frozen in his seat, not knowing how to process this, how to react. His breath is stuck in his chest, and just as he begins to think that maybe, _maybe,_ he could dare to reciprocate somehow, the leg draws back a little under the table, and he can see Even’s gaze drop down to his hands.

That spurs Isak into action. Suddenly, he knows that if he lets this opportunity go, he’ll regret it forever. Quickly, before any second thoughts can overtake him, he presses back.

It sets fire to something deep inside him to see Even’s chin jerk back up, eyes on him again, black stare burning, and it’s clear as day that none of them are going to let go this time. They stare at each other, both unwavering.

It’s like Isak has forgotten everything. Why he’s here in the first place, what’s going on around him. It’s a wonder, honestly, that he even remembers how to breathe.

A sudden scraping of chairs all around reminds him of where he is. People standing, voices slowly picking up, the volume increasing to his left and right. Dinner must be over, and it’s probably obvious to everyone what’s going on between him and Even now, but he couldn’t care less.

He vaguely registers somebody trying to say something to him from across the table – who was sitting there again? Was it Noora? – but there’s no room for anything inside of him right now but Even.

Slowly, deliberately, he stands up, and Even does the same, both of them letting their chairs slide back, eyes fastened on each other the whole time. Without letting go for even a second, Isak starts walking backwards towards the door, not even surprised when Even follows, rounding the table and approaching him as he retreats, mouth a little agape and eyes open as in wonder.

They’ve barely rounded the corner into the hall when Isak grabs hold of Even’s shirt, fisting his hands into the fabric to pull him close. Even doesn’t hesitate for a second as he follows, backing Isak up to press him against the wall, upper body covering all of his as their lips finally meet.

It’s hot and wet and all tongue right away, it’s _perfect,_ and Isak remembers. This was exactly what it felt like the last time, only now, on the right side of sober, it’s so much more. So intense that his knees almost give out as Even lets a hand slide up into his hair, and Isak moans at the sensation – from just fingers to his scalp and a kiss.

He can’t get enough. Letting go of Even’s shirt, he lets his left hand slide up his back, the right one up the nape of Even’s neck, and the feeling of soft, wavy curls between his fingers brings another memory back. Of how it felt to pull at it, to let himself just blindly _want._ Head spinning, he does it again without thinking; grabs hold of Even’s hair and pulls, maybe a little too hard, but the moan escaping Even’s lips leaves no room for regret. Instead, Even presses himself even closer, sliding a leg in between Isak’s and now Isak suspects that he is truly going to die. The tension that has been building all day pouring into the kiss, the hair-pulling and the desperate need for each other has made him hard in record time, and it must be obvious to Even how weak Isak is for this. For _him._

He’s on the verge of feeling embarrassed about it when Even moves his lips across his cheek and proceeds to nip at Isak’s earlobe with his teeth. An electric current runs from Isak’s ear and down to his dick at that and makes him involuntarily press back against Even’s thigh, embarrassed or not. But what he feels as he does makes the last remnants of shame fly out the window – there’s no mistaking that Even is just as into this as he is, obvious hardness pushing against his hip bone, and it makes him almost dizzy with want.

Isak can’t remember feeling this desperate ever before. If anyone would have walked past them since they started this, he’d have no idea – vision obscured by small black dots on all sides as if all blood in his body has rushed south, leaving no oxygen for even the simplest thoughts apart from _Even_ and _now now now._ His mind is just coherent enough to make him realize that they need to take this inside a room, or he’ll just undress Even and have his way with him here and now in the hall.

Even kisses down the side of his neck, and the scrape of his teeth against the sensitive skin punches a groan out of Isak, making him clench his fist in Even’s hair once again, and he feels Even’s hum vibrate through him. Somehow, unconsciously, his other hand has found its way to Even’s belt buckle, fingering the clasp, and if he doesn’t get them out of here soon he’s definitely going to get kicked out for public indecency – and neither Magnus nor Noora would ever let him live that down.

He tugs on Even’s hair, bringing his ear in proximity to his mouth, and lets go of his belt long enough to grab his hand from behind his own back, entwining their fingers.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, and his voice already sounds low and gravelly, almost like his entire being has been taken over by someone else.

He hears Even swallow, and feels him nod against the side of his head.

He smells so good. Warm and spicy and some kind of hair product, and Isak just wants to lick him, wants to, _has to_ know if he tastes just like he smells.

He pulls Even by the hand around a corner, through a corridor, to the elevator. Luckily, it's there, waiting for them, and he can't resist pressing the _close doors_ button a few times. He just has to be alone with Even, has to get him away from everyone, from prying friends and matchmakers, family and co-workers.

The elevator is too fast. He only just about has the time to kiss Even once, deep and slow, taste his lips, feel their tongues slot together. He melts against him, feels the plane of Even's chest press against his own, how he spreads his legs to make room for Isak - and then the elevator dings, and they're on their floor.

They fall out of the elevator, still hand in hand. Even's eyes shine in the soft light of the setting sun streaming into the corridor, his cheeks pink and warm, and his entire face glows with anticipation. From the tips of his fingers, up through his legs and over his entire body, Isak feels a flutter fill him up, every crevice of his being, threatening to well over in a giggle. His cheeks strain to accommodate his smile.

He has to put his hand around Even's neck again, has to pull him in for another kiss, and he feels Even smile against his lips as he does. It makes his own smile grow, until they're both just smiling against each others’ mouths, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

He can't remember it ever being like this before. His relationships, the few one night stands he's had – he can't ever remember being so elated that he had to laugh, just to get it out. But now, he can't seem to stop.

Even seems to manage to compose himself for a second, just long enough to press a quick, hard kiss to Isak's lips.

“Your room?” he mumbles against them, squeezing Isak's hand.

And that's when he realises.

Fuck.

“I didn't bring any condoms.” The second the words leave his mouth, he feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. How presumptuous can he be?! He has no idea, really, what Even wants from this, if he even wants anything more than _this._ But Even just kisses him again, still smiling under dark, half lidded eyes.

“My room, then.”

Isak is lucky that their rooms are close to the elevators, because he doesn't know how he'd manage to walk to the far end of the corridor. He trails behind Even as he pulls him along by the hand, and he can barely place one foot in front of the other, so distracted is he by the sight Even makes: his back moving beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, jacket long forgotten at dinner. The outline of his spine, disappearing into his pants, and his ass, that Isak knows, _remembers,_ fits perfectly under the palms of his hands. The sun-kissed column of his neck, and he might be imagining it, but he almost thinks he can see the fading traces of his own fingers on it, pulling him in.

He can't help it once they stop at Even's door: he has to get his hands on him, all over him, has to run them along his sides, trace the ridges and valleys of his back, feel the edges of his hips, the muscles of his thighs. Has to feel the warmth of his neck on his lips, taste the salt gathering at his curling hairline.

Even squirms under him, even as he's pushing back towards him.

“Isak…” he mumbles, groans, as he fiddles with his key card – flips it, turns it around, pushes in and slams it in, again and again, “Isak!”

His name, tumbling out of Even's mouth, already sloppy around the edges, goes straight to Isak's dick. It’s throbbing against his fly, desperate for some friction, and without really thinking about it he presses his hips lightly against Even's ass, dick lining up with the seam of Even’s pants, with Even's cleft.

Even lets out a whimper.

For a second he's about to pull away, convinced that he's gone too far. The apology is already forming on his lips. Then Even grabs his hand off his hip and places it over his own bulge.

Isak feels it pulsing even through his pants, warm and hard and straining, and he feels the apology in his mouth give way to salivation.

“Fuck, Isak,” Even moans through gritted teeth. “You have to let me focus so I can open the door, or I'm going to burst.”

Isak can't resist grinding against his ass, pushing back with his hand over Even's dick, and it punches another muffled moan through Even's teeth. Then he complies, standing absolutely still for several seconds, until Even manages to open the door.

As soon as they're inside, he lets his desperation take over again. He flips Even around, crowds him up against the door, pushing a leg in between his thighs and fastening the safety chain in one go.

He's not letting anyone bother him and Even this time.

Head light with the knowledge that he finally, _finally,_ has what he’s been staring at all night within reach, he can’t help but grind up against Even’s thigh once more, without any reservation. And the moan that Even makes at that must be the most beautiful sound Isak’s ever heard. He can’t help himself any longer, he _needs_ to get his hands on Even, on any part that he can reach. Fingers trembling, he opens Even’s shirt buttons, one by one, from the top. As the whole of his upper chest comes into view, Isak acts without thinking – as he opens the last buttons at the bottom of Even’s shirt, he leans forward and licks all the way along his left collarbone.

There’s a loud thud as Even’s head falls backwards against the door with a muttered, _“Fuck,_ Isak!”

He can’t help but smile against Even’s shoulder as he starts undoing his own shirt, can’t wait a second longer to feel their bare chests against each other.

Hastily, they both shrug out of their shirts, standing across from each other in the hallway, panting, chests heaving.

Even’s hair stands in all directions, his cheeks are red, blue eyes almost black now, and Isak hasn’t seen anything like it in his whole life. The picture Even paints standing there is enough to make his head spin. Just like during dinner, he’s forgotten where he is. Reality fades out in the distance, there is nothing left but this, but him and Even.

He can’t stand the distance between them for a second longer - he has to kiss him, he _needs_ to. Needs to make him forget Sonja and all other girls and boys in the world.

Stepping forward, he lets a hand come up to grab at Even’s hair, pull a little, and tilt his head to the side.

This kiss is just as hot as the ones in the corridor before, but it feels like _more_ – with their bare chests sliding against each other, it’s heating Isak up from the inside in a way he didn’t think possible. Even’s mouth is so warm, his lips so soft and at the same time fierce, kissing Isak with a fervour and purpose so intense that he can’t help but moan.

As he does, Even lets out a sound that’s somewhere between moan and a whimper, and Isak can feel hands coming up to grab around his upper arms, almost as if Even’s trying to steady himself. As if he’s trying to stay in touch with reality, too.

Even’s breath is hotter than ever against his lips as Isak’s hands, almost as of their own volition, travel down Even’s front to undo his belt buckle for real this time.

He just about grabs the front of Even’s pants as he feels hands grabbing his wrists.

“Isak,” Even pants, and Isak’s heart sinks. Has he been too desperate? Too straightforward? _Fuck,_ was he right all along, and this is as far as Even wants to take this?

All such thoughts are cut short, however, as Even continues, in an almost stuttered half-whisper, “Can I blow you? Please? I’ve never done it before – but I really want to.”

It’s a good thing he’s standing so close to Even, or else he might have lost his balance. He wants nothing more than to answer him, but the words seem to be stuck in his throat. Struggling to remember how to breathe, he finally manages to pant out a “Yes. Oh my god, Even. Yes. Yes please.”

Long, deft fingers come down between them to open his pants, and as Even starts kissing his way down his chest, pausing at his nipple. It’s almost like Isak’s disconnecting, like he’s beginning to float away. He’s pretty sure neither of them would benefit from him fainting to the floor, so he reaches for Even’s hands.

“Come.”

The room is mirrored to his own, bed up against the far wall, and it doesn’t take many steps until he can sit down on it, pulling at Even’s arm to make him follow.

“Lie down on your back,” Even whispers into his ear, and he can’t do much else than comply, Even hooking his fingers under the elastic of his briefs and pulling, until Isak lies there, naked at last. Even quickly shrugs out of his own pants and briefs, and sits down on his knees beside him on the bed. At first, he doesn’t move, just sits there and lets his gaze travel up and down Isak’s body. There’s something akin to reverence in his eyes, and Isak can’t help but feel a little exposed – but at the same time, he can’t remember anyone has ever looking at him this way before. The desperation from earlier, where they nearly ripped each other’s clothes off in the hall, is no longer there. It’s like the desire has travelled up to settle in Even’s eyes, which are full of wonder, of awe.

It’s so intense that Isak almost can’t stand it. Just as he’s about to squirm away from the lack of contact, Even leans forward and puts his hands beside Isak’s head, climbing over him to put his knees on either side of his hips. He bends down, slowly, and as their lips meet again, Isak moans, relieved to finally get some part of Even on him again.

Even doesn’t stay there for long, though. He moves his mouth to kiss along Isak’s right jaw, coming up to bite his earlobe lightly, just like before, and the electric current shooting through Isak’s body is no weaker this time.

More wet, hot kisses down the side of Isak’s neck, and when Even reaches the dip beneath his neck muscles, he sighs, and does just what Isak did to _him_ before – runs his tongue along the whole length of the collarbone.

Blowjobs or any other sexual act aside – this is the hottest fucking thing anyone has ever done to Isak in his entire life. Eyes closing, head spinning, he wonders how _anyone_ can turn someone else on this much. He can only imagine how Even looked doing that, and he can feel his toes curl and his dick throb even harder at that thought alone. Even has moved on, and now he’s licking his way down Isak’s chest – almost languidly slow; small, teasing touches with the tip of his tongue. The lazy, broad licks leave a trail of wetness in its wake, and it tingles as it cools off, sensation traveling all across his chest and down, making his stomach muscles clench.

When he reaches Isak’s right nipple, Isak’s eyes roll back in his head from how good it feels. Even’s right hand has come up to stroke his side, and it’s so close to where Isak wants it the most, but not close enough. He can hear himself let out a sound that’s somewhere close to a whimper as Even flattens his palm against his hipbone for the third or fourth time.

At that, Even lifts his head, and Isak opens his eyes to see Even staring straight at him. Pupils so wide that they’re taken over almost all of the blue, gaze burning, consuming, before he dips down again and starts sucking at the skin beside his navel, pressure increasing until a bruise must be forming and Isak can’t remember how to breathe.

As Even lets go and starts licking across his stomach, out to the side, Isak can feel himself getting impatient. It’s almost like Even doesn’t have a _purpose_ to this anymore – like he’s not intentionally teasing, but just exploring, mapping out every little inch of Isak’s skin, like a discovery. Isak is not sure how much longer he can stand this, desperation slowly building, and his hands start to move around as if of their own volition. He needs something to grab on to, as if he doesn’t he’ll dissolve into atoms and disintegrate into the air around him. He’s not really sure what he’s doing anymore as his left hand comes up into his own hair, grabbing and holding on for dear life. The right one lands on Even’s upper arm, and without thinking, he presses his fingers into the skin so hard that it must be painful.

He swears that he can actually _feel_ Even’s smile against his skin, before he finally, _finally_ takes mercy on Isak and licks at the head of his dick.

It is so right, and still it’s not enough. Isak can swear he’s going to die for real this time as Even just keeps licking along his dick in the same way as he did to his chest and stomach – and now he’s not so sure that there isn’t a hint of teasing to it, after all.

Or – a sudden thought hits him – what if it’s nerves? Maybe Even doesn’t really want this, or doesn’t dare? What if he’s having second thoughts about this whole thing, after all?

Isak lifts his head, he has to check in with Even, that he’s still with him in this. But what he sees as he looks down leaves no room for second thoughts.

Even’s eyes are closed, sweaty strands of hair falling down onto his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed red; his lips are a bit swollen from all the kissing, and he looks so good that it’s almost unreal. Most of all, he looks like he’s enjoying himself almost just as much as Isak is.

Or could be, that is, if Even only could get a move on.

But Isak doesn’t want to push, he wants Even to feel safe and comfortable in this. He doesn’t manage to hold back an impatient sound in the back of this throat, though, as Even licks even further down, away, and at that, Even looks up and stares straight at him.

It’s so reminiscent of how their eyes locked over the dinner table, and yet the intensity of it now, with Even hovering with his face next to his dick, is magnified by a thousand. Even keeps the stare as he parts his lips and takes Isak’s dick into his mouth, eyes burning into his the whole time. And this time Isak is sure - he’s going to die.

Even might not have done this before, but it isn’t like Isak could tell. Maybe it's a little sloppy, beads of saliva gliding down towards his balls as Even hums around him, and maybe Even isn't able to swallow him down as far as some of the guys he's been with – but as far as Isak's concerned, this is easily one of his top five blowjob experiences. Maybe even top three.

And then Even adds his hand at the root, catches the drops and uses them to wet the entirety of Isak's dick, to add to the slide of his hand over the shaft, all while he hollows out his cheeks and ups the suction around the head, and fuck – Isak has to amend his ranking once again. This is the best thing ever.

Just, like, in general.

It's like his nerve endings have switched off, except for the ones in his dick, his thighs, the sensitive skin of his groin. The only thing he feels, the only thing that registers is Even, Even's mouth, Even's hand, Even's fingertips pressing into the meat of his thigh, pushing him into the mattress. Isak isn't even sure that Even realises that that's what he's doing, that he's keeping him steady, keeping him from bucking his hips, fucking into that mouth.

Any nervousness seems to have evaporated from Even now. He hums around Isak's dick again, and the vibrations make Isak's hips twitch, make him squirm, make him want to push back. But Even removes his hand from around his dick, and his other hand from his thigh, and places them both on Isak's hips instead, holding him, gently but firmly, down on the bed. Then he pulls his mouth off him as well.

With just the pointed tip of his tongue he traces the line of Isak's shaft, around the head, licks at his slit, tasting the precum beading out of it. And at the sudden chill of air against his dick, the sudden loss of Even's mouth, Isak can't stop the whine that slips out of him. He grabs aimlessly at Even, manages to grasp onto his hair, and he knows he's probably pulling too hard, probably being too rough, but fuck, he just _needs_ Even to do _something._

But Even just pulls back even more, pops off entirely, and with his hand in his hair Isak can feel him turn his face up, towards him. When he opens his eyes, Even is looking at him, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a mischievous half-smile, and eyebrow cocked.

There's no question that he's doing this on purpose.

And Isak shouldn't find it so hot. _Wouldn't_ find it so hot – usually doesn't like giving up more control than necessary, normally doesn't react like this to being held down, or teased. Maybe it's the role reversal. As far as he'd thought about it, he'd expected Even to be nervous, careful, maybe even timid. Expected him to be as awkward in bed as he was at Elsker. He wasn't expecting him to take charge, to tell Isak what he wanted to do with him.

But now he wants more of it.

Even licks his lips, and, eyes still locked on Isak, starts to descend on his dick once again. But Isak pulls on his hair, not too roughly, but hard enough to make him pause.

“Do you– do you want to fuck me?” It comes out slightly strangled, and he can feel the flush spread over the back of his neck, down his chest. He isn't used to being this nakedly desperate, and he suddenly feels exposed, rock hard, with wild-eyed, wild-haired Even poised between his legs. He swallows, tries to steady his voice, tries to sound confident, like he knows what he's doing. “I want you to fuck me.”

Even's eyes hold his for a moment, like he's searching for something, and Isak tries to hold steady. Tries to convey some sort confidence from the experience that he does have, even if right now it feels like none of it has even come close to this. Tries to quell the freaking _bees_ buzzing in his stomach.

Even's lips are glossy with spit, his eyes shining, and if Isak thought he was beautiful before, clothed and put together, it's nothing compared to what he looks like now.

“Are– are you sure?” Even's voice sounds strangled, like he's trying to keep too much excitement from seeping out.

But Isak's never been more sure of anything in his life _._

“I am,” he says, and watches as a hungry grin spreads across Even's face, like he's finally allowing himself to let it out.  

A tsunami of anticipation wells through Isak's body, spreads over his shoulders, through his stomach, settling in his dick. He can't keep his own smile in, feels it spread across his face, mirroring Even, who's still down between his thighs.

And that won't do. Isak suddenly _needs_ to kiss him, can't stand being this far from him for another second. He runs his fingers through Even's hair, one last time, before grabbing at his shoulders, pulling him towards him.

Even comes easily, settling half on top of Isak, slotting a thigh between his legs. Against his hip, Isak can feel his dick, and he can't resist grinding against it, just a little, just to feel Even's body contract against his, just to feel how he reacts to them being this close to each other. Feel their chests pressed together, skin against skin, Even's smooth and pale, dotted with birthmarks and stray hairs. He runs his hands over his upper arms, over his shoulder blades, down his spine. On top of him, Even relaxes, grows heavy against Isak as he burrows into the dip of his shoulder, licking and biting and sucking at the sensitive skin. Settles, like this is where he belongs, shielding Isak from the world around them, creating a little bubble where it's just them.

Isak could stay in that bubble forever – if not for the fact that when Even shifts on top of him he rubs against Isak's dick that lies trapped between their stomachs. Isak can't stop the groan it punches out of him. Against his neck, Even hums in response, but he doesn't move. Isak can feel that he's leaking, that his precum is smearing over both their stomachs, can feel a tightening low in his gut, how he's starting to feel hollowed out, desperate to be filled up.

He tugs at Even's shoulder, tries to communicate that he should turn over, and luckily, Even seems to be paying attention, and rolls over so that Isak is now hovering over him. Even lets go of him, stretching his arms above his head, and Isak almost can't handle the way he's looking at him, has never seen a gaze this intense before, or one that contains this much – so full of anticipation, of heat, of _want._

He hopes that Even can see the same emotions mirrored on his face.  

“Do you have lube? And the condoms?”

Even nods.

“In my toilet bag. In the bathroom.”

Isak feels Even's eyes on him as he climbs off the bed and walks over to the tiny bathroom, and he finds that he doesn't mind it. The opposite, in fact. He's never been the kind of guy to be comfortable naked, it's always brought up old, lingering feelings of being exposed, unsafe – but Even's gaze feels like a blanket, covering him.

It's when he unzips Even's toilet bag and sees the unopened package of condoms, the almost full bottle of lube, that the realization sets in. Even hoped for this. Planned for it. For a moment, Isak just stands there, bottle in hand, reveling in it.

_Even planned for this. For him._

When he returns to the bed, Even is still lying in the same position, arms above his head, legs slightly spread, his dick red and hard and a tiny pool of precum on his stomach. He smiles at Isak when he straddles him, but doesn't move. Just waits.

Isak has occasionally been able to pull off acting suave, but now, although he tries to swallow it down, he can't quite rid himself of the quiver in his voice.

“Okay,” he starts, and then Even bites his bottom lip, gives him a peek of teeth and tongue and makes him lose his train of thought before he's even started. “Okay.” He takes Even's hand from above his head and places it in his palm, clicks the bottle of lube open with his other hand, and coats Even's fingers with it. Then he lies down of top of Even again, settles against him with one leg pulled up over his hips. “You need to start by opening me up. Make sure that I'm relaxed enough, so that I can… take you.”

Even gives him a lop-sided smile that borders on amused. ”Isak. I’ve had a girlfriend for more than ten years. It’s not like I haven’t tried _things_ before.”

If Isak wasn’t so turned on, he’d probably feel embarrassed – now, he just huffs. “Aren’t I allowed to tell you what I like, then?”

Even grins at him. “Sure. You’re the master of gay sex here, after all.”

“I actually am.”

Isak can’t help but grin back, but as Even’s gaze turns serious again, he feels his own smile fall.

“Tell me how you like it, then,” Even says in a low voice.

A surge of want and anticipation wells through him at that. The thought of being allowed to guide Even like that turns him on more than he’d expected. He reaches behind himself and places Even's hand on his own ass, fingers along his cleft.

“Like this,” he whispers back. He keeps his eyes locked on Even's, his hand on top of Even's, on his ass. Beneath him, Even nods, almost imperceptibly, and his hand curves lightly over Isak's ass cheek, the tips of his fingers just over his cleft. He keeps them still, keeps his eyes on Isak, like he's waiting for him to tell him what to do.

Having Even's full attention on him is the hottest thing Isak's ever experienced, and at the same time completely fucking excruciating. That Even is hanging on to his every word, determined to do exactly what Isak asks of him, makes him heat up all over – and, ironically, makes him want Even to just flip him over and pound into him, to take over, take what he wants from him.

But more than that, he wants Even to have his way with him. To take control.

It's just a question of how he's going to tell him that.

He curls all of Even's fingers except one into a fist, placing his own finger beside it, and guides them to his hole, pushing them lightly against the rim. He starts stroking, lightly, across, in tiny circles. Feels, with both his hand and his body, how the muscles relax, opening up little by little for their fingers. With both his and Even's finger there, the sensations are twice as strong, and he has to close his eyes to it, can't handle both this and Even's intense gaze. Has to focus on the feeling of their fingers, on the hollow growing in his gut.

He feels how Even places his other hand against his cheek, how he runs his thumb along his bottom lip, and without really thinking, he takes it into his mouth and sucks. Needs to be filled up with something, with Even, in some way.

Beneath him, he can hear Even breathe harder, faster. He pries his eyes open, finds his gaze again. Even is staring at Isak like he's transfixed by him. His forehead is glistening with sweat, his cheeks glowing red.

“One finger please,” Isak mumbles, his words slurred both by Even's thumb in his mouth and his fingers against his ass. If he wasn't already so desperate he'd probably be embarrassed to hear himself plead for it, but right now there isn't much he wouldn't do to get Even inside him as soon as possible.

Even's hand behind him stills. He feels him place a careful fingertip against his hole, and Isak can't keep holding on to his hand anymore, has to grasp at the sheets as Even's finger pushes inside him, excruciatingly slowly.

“Fuck me with it.” His voice sounds breathy and raspy even to his own ears, and when Even does, it elicits a low groan that he barely knows where it comes from. Even looks at him intensely, blue eyes blacker by the second, his eyes flitting between Isak's mouth, eyes, and the movement of his own arm.

“Bend it.”

Even does, and a shudder runs through Isak as the tip of Even's finger glances over his prostate, his mouth dropping open so that Even's thumb falls out. He lets go of the sheets, grasps at Even's hair and pulls him in, leans their foreheads together, has to be close, has to feel Even's warm breath mix with his own against his face.

He can barely form words anymore, only moan, raspily, “two,” but Even gets it, inserts slowly a second finger next to the first, and Isak could cry at it, could cry because it's so close and yet so far from being enough.

He feels his body create space for Even's slim fingers as they press against the edges, give way, but then they're gone again, moved, and the pressure’s not right, not enough.

“Even,” he gasps, “Even, it's enough. I need you to fuck me now.”

Even pulls away, just a little, and looks up at him. Pushes his drenched hair from his forehead. Stares into Isak's eyes like he needs to see in them as well that Isak is certain.

“Really?”

_“Yes.”_

He starts to climb off, starts to turn his back to Even, but Even's hand on his arm stops him.

“Can we– I want to see you. Your face.” He sounds a bit sheepish, like he's almost expecting Isak to tell him no, or to think he's being silly. Isak's heart swells at it, the hollow in him expanding, and he wants to embrace Even, press their bodies so tightly together that they fuse.

“Yes,” he says, a little too quickly, but he can see that it immediately makes Even relax. “Yes, I want that too.”

A pleased smile spreads over Even's face, and he pulls himself up on his elbows, looking at Isak expectantly.

“So…” he says, “how do you want to…?”

Isak isn't sure. The easiest thing, maybe, would be to ride Even – to be the one to take control, set the pace. And it would probably be amazing, incredible, but he can't deny that he feels a sting of disappointment at missing out on Even taking charge, _taking him._

He glides off Even's lap and lies down on his back instead, spreading his legs wide. Even watches him with interest, and when Isak tugs at his elbow, he's quick to roll on top of him, settling once more between his thighs, hovering over him with his weight on his elbows.

“Like this,” Isak says, staring into Even's eyes, Even's smile.

“Yeah,” Even nods, his voice low and raspy. He sits back on his haunches, dick bouncing against his stomach, glistening with precum, and Isak can feel himself salivating at the idea of it inside of him. He grabs a condom, rolling it on in a swift motion, and lowers himself back over Isak.

“Like this?”

It's something between a question and a statement.

Isak hooks one of his legs over Even's hip, angles his hips upward.

“Like this.”

The pressure of Even's dick against his hole is blunt, big, so completely different already from the pointed pressure of his fingers, and Isak's jaw slackens at the anticipation of it. He lifts his hips off the bed, pushes back against it, needs it inside him. Above him, Even's eyes roam his face, full of wonder – but there's a gleam of something else in them as well, of teasing, maybe. He's completely still, hovering above Isak, too far away for Isak to be able to kiss him, touch him – just looking at him, watching. One hand on the headboard, the other on Isak's knee, keeping his leg up.

He doesn't seem to be in any hurry to get inside Isak, now.

“Even!” Isak can hear that he's starting to sound whiny, needy, but he's far too desperate to be embarrassed about it now.

Even bites his bottom lip.

“You know what I always thought? Since the first time I met you, I thought you were so… _sturdy._ You always seemed to be so in control, like nothing could ever shake you. How you just… pulled me away at Eskild’s party, just pushed me up against that wall…” He pushes against Isak's hole, just a little push, not enough to breach him, and Isak almost whimpers at the promise of it, before he pulls back again. “But that's not right, is it? It doesn't really take much for you to lose it.”

He says it completely sincerely, like he's amazed to find this side of Isak, amazed and pleased. And Isak wants to tell him that it's him, it's Even who makes him like this, that for some reason, with Even, losing control doesn't seem so scary.

Instead, he just groans, fruitlessly bucking against Even's dick, trying to get to the pressure he was just deprived of.

“Even. Fuck me.”

And Even does, breaches him with a single long, controlled push, until he bottoms out, hips flush against Isak's ass. He fills every crevice of him, every nook and cranny, like all his inner organs have shifted to give way to Even, and Isak grits his teeth to it, could almost weep from the relief.

Then Even pulls halfway out, and slams into him again. And again. And again. His eyebrows are knotted in concentration, his stare so intense that Isak can hardly meet it. Perspiration gleams on his upper lip, in the hollow of his collarbone.

Again. And again. And again.

It's sloppy, no real rhythm to it, just rough and raw and desperate. Even's stomach drags against Isak's dick with every long pull out, hard push in, each time edging him just a little closer, familiar tingling building in his thighs, low in his stomach. He wishes he could get his hand on it, wrap his fist around it and fuck into it, matching Even thrust by thrust, but there's no space between them, no way to fit, so he has to settle for grasping at the sheets, at Even's shoulder, at the hair at the nape of his neck.

Even's keeps their eyes locked, never wavering, and Isak marvels at how his gaze can be at the same time so intense and so soft, in complete contrast to his dick feverishly drilling into him. His mouth hangs slightly open, lips red and pillowy, pouting, breath heavy, the very tip of his tongue occasionally peeking out. His brow is furrowed in concentration, like he's focusing on _feeling,_ registering everything happening around him, with Isak, with himself.

Isak can't remember ever feeling so seen – and not just during sex.

And then Even burrows himself deep inside Isak, hides his face in the curve of his neck, and on a long, deep groan that vibrates through his body, against Isak's under him, he comes.

When his shivers finally subside, he collapses on top of Isak, limp, boneless. For a few minutes, they just lie there - Even's face in the crook of Isak's neck, his body covering Isak's, warm and soft and heavy, his dick slipping out between Isak's thighs. Isak cards his fingers through his hair, and Even hums against his skin.

“That was amazing,” he says, almost sleepily. “You're amazing.”

Isak feels himself flush, because honestly, has Even _seen_ himself? Has Even _slept with_ himself? (Well, obviously not, but still.) If anyone's amazing, beautiful, perfect…

Even settles on top of him, shifts a little and relaxes, and Isak is reminded of his still hard dick, trapped under Even's hip bone.

That Even seems to have no intention of getting to anytime soon, if his deepening breaths and satisfied hums are anything to go by.

A terrible thought hits him.

What if, despite everything, this has just been an experiment for Even? He said it himself, he'd never done this before, never been with a guy before.

Maybe he just thought Isak would be an easy lay.

Even wriggles a little against him, rubbing thoughtlessly against his dick, makes warmth settle in Isak's stomach, his balls start to tighten, and really, that just makes Isak feel worse. He should just get out from under Even, escape to his own room. Finish himself off in the bathroom and go to sleep.

He squirms under Even, tries to subtly push him off so he can make a reasonably graceful exit. And Even glides off slightly, but traps him instead with an arm around his waist, a leg slung over his hip.

“What are you doing?” he mumbles, and oh God, it really does sound like he's already drifting off to sleep.

Isak's never hooking up with anyone ever again. Starting now, he's saving himself for marriage. It's not like it'll vastly affect his sex life anyway.

But Even's hand around his waist trails down his stomach, traces the line of his hipbone, and then, without warning, up the length of his dick, his thumb running over his slit, catching the precum pooling there, spreading it over the head.

His long, nimble fingers wrap loosely around Isak's dick, stroking slowly, lazily. Tangles in the curls at the base, as Even runs his thumb along the seam of his thigh. His other hand finds Isak's hair, weaves into it, tugging, just a little, at the very same moment as his other hand once again travels up his dick, rusting around it.

There's something about the combination of it, how the grasp in his hair matches the grasp around his dick that makes the sensation so much bigger. It darts like a flame through Isak's body, up and down his limbs like in a pinball machine, like it isn't sure where to go, before settling in his stomach, the top of his thighs, his balls.

Even loosens his grip again, strokes him lightly a couple of times, and then does it again.

And that's enough to send Isak over the edge. He comes all over Even's hand and all over his own stomach. The orgasm surges through his body, and he bucks helplessly into Even's hand as he works him through it.

When the last traces of it have sparked and faded, he just lies there, dazed, spent. His closed eyes sting, spots appearing on the insides of his eyelids.

Beside him, he feels Even move away. Distantly, he can hear himself whine for him, and then Even's voice, soft and soothing.

“I’m not going anywhere, I'll be right back.”

And he feels Even lift from the bed, and then, what feels like seconds and an eternity later, how his weight returns, how something soft and warm and wet is wiped over his stomach, his dick, between his asscheeks.

He feels how the covers are pulled up over his body, how Even's head comes to rest on his chest, his arm slung across his stomach, and he turns towards it, towards him.

And then he sleeps.

 

* * *

 

Isak comes out of sleep slowly, early morning golden sunlight streaming in through the windows, curtains drawn to the sides. For a moment, he’s unsure of where he is, but when he turns to get a glimpse of the other side of the room, a sudden discomfort shoots through his thighs and his ass, and he remembers.

The soreness turns to a tingling reminder instead as he rolls over and finds Even beside him, still asleep, face turned towards him. One hand rests under his right cheek, long eyelashes casting little shadows below his eyes. His hair is sleep-tousled, a few strands lying haphazardly across the pillow, and he looks so peaceful that something inside Isak clenches, a longing he doesn’t know where to place.

Lying down on his side to face Even, he allows himself to look, to really drink him in, as if he could save this for later. The thought runs through him paired with an emptiness – this might be the only time he has this. Is allowed to have this. It’s all he can do not to reach out and touch, as Even makes a sleepy, content sound – and Isak thinks his heart is going to shatter and brim over with affection at the same time.

He already knows there’s no going back to sleep now. Carefully, as not to wake Even, he shifts upwards on the bed, coming up to sit against the padded headboard. Lets his gaze stray over Even’s bare shoulders, down the slope of his side, the duvet hugging his hips.

He’s naked himself, he notices – usually, he sleeps in boxers at least – and it serves as another reminder of last night. How Even had looked as he towered over him, eyes dark with lust and hair dripping with sweat. The way he seemed to know exactly how to touch Isak, how to drive him crazy with want before finally giving him what he wanted, fucked him so steady and sure and yet so desperately. A heated tingle shoots down his stomach at the thought, stirring up his dick a little, and he can’t help but squirm where he’s sitting.

The movement makes Even shift minutely, and then he blinks a few times to look up at Isak. He smiles upon meeting his eyes, and it looks so genuine that Isak’s heart starts beating a little faster.

”Hi,” Even whispers in a hoarse voice, and turns over on his stomach to put a warm, sleep-soft hand on Isak’s thigh under the duvet.

Isak smiles back - how could he not? “Hi, yourself. Sorry to wake you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Even says. “I’m not.” He slides his hand further up Isak’s thigh, over to his stomach, lightly touching the side of Isak’s now half-hard dick with the movement. Even’s eyebrows, although still a little sleepy, shoot up, and he gives Isak a wicked smile. “Again? You didn’t get enough yesterday?”

Isak rolls his eyes, but before he has time to say anything Even has let his hand slide down the inside of his thigh, and asks, a worried tone to his voice: “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

“No!” How can he think that? “No, I’m fine. Just a little sore. It’ll pass soon. And,” he adds with a grin, “it was totally worth it.”

“Yeah?” Even smiles. He licks his lips, looks down for a second, and when he lifts his gaze again, his eyes have turned darker, with a hint of determination. Keeping his hand on Isak’s thigh, he shuffles up while throwing the duvet to the side and then climbs into Isak’s lap, one knee on either side of his hips.

Isak can feel his own dick as well as Even’s grow harder by the second, as Even presses himself closer, lets their chests flush together, and bends forward to whisper in his ear.

“What does it feel like?”

Isak can feel his breath catch in his throat. How Even can go from sleeping to _this_ in under a minute, he has no idea. But it’s not like he’ll complain. He swallows. “Do you want me to tell you?”

“No,” Even whispers, voice darker, deeper. “I want you to show me.”

Pulse hammering in his ears, Isak lets his hands slide around Even’s lower back, letting his fingers come down to stroke down his cleft. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Isak,” Even breathes, and way he says his name sets something inside Isak on fire, makes him slide his fingers even further down. “Please. I want to know how it feels.”

“Like this,” Isak whispers, lets his fingers stroke over Even’s hole, and he hears, more than feels, the sharp intake of breath from Even next to his ear. Even stretches out an arm towards the bedside table and proceed to press the bottle of lube into Isak’s free hand. He tries to keep from shaking with anticipation as he squeezes it out over his fingers.

It’s been a while since he did this to someone, but there’s no doubt that Even enjoys it as Isak presses his fingers even closer, circling, stroking. He lays his head down on Isak’s shoulder, breathing heavier as Isak slowly, carefully lets his fingertip slip inside, only to the first knuckle.

“Okay?” he asks, and Even nods against him.

“Yeah. Yes. More – please.”

Very carefully, he slides a little more of his finger inside, making Even moan into his ear. It’s the good kind of moan, though – Isak is certain – and he starts moving his finger in and out into the wet heat. Even bends his neck further, his forehead already sweaty against Isak’s shoulder, and sighs.

Isak can feel the barely-there tension in Even’s legs against his own, and he brings his other hand up to stroke his side, to distract him from the feeling that he knows can be a lot.

”Isak,” Even breathes – and there it is, his name again. It affects him in a way he’s not sure how to name, makes him want Even closer – so he slides his hand down to the small of his back, drawing him in, following with his index finger, now buried deep inside.

He can feel Even press against him with his whole upper body, teeth scratching against his ear.

”More,” Even pants. ”Want you to – more.”

That’s probably as eloquent as either of them can be right now, but Isak gets it. He pulls out almost all the way and lets his middle finger come up to gently stroke beside the first, and soon, he feels Even open a little more for him, letting him slip both fingers inside. Even moans again, much louder this time, and Isak can feel a drop of sweat from Even’s forehead roll down on his shoulder.

The tightness, the wetness, the warmth – Isak almost can’t wait, but he needs to go slow, needs to have Even on board. It doesn’t seem to be a problem right now, though – just then, he can feel Even’s back muscles tense under his hand as he starts pushing back against the fingers inside. Isak just keeps them there, lets Even set the pace, lets him discover for himself just how good it feels.

”Like this,” he whispers into Even’s ear in a cracked voice. ”It feels like this.”

An even louder moan beside his ear at that, and he can feel Even shudder against him.

”Isak. Please.”

Isak all but moans himself at Even’s words. ”Now?”

”Yes, fuck, Isak,” Even almost huffs beside him. ”Come on.”

Isak hesitates, doesn’t want to patronize, but he also knows that Even has, in fact, never done this before. ”Be patient,” he whispers. ”I don’t want to hurt you.”

A groan into his shoulder, Even mutters, ”Fine,” and Isak almost has to keep himself from chuckling, despite the seriousness of the situation.

”So eager,” he teases, letting a third finger slowly find its way beside the other ones, one knuckle at a time, causing Even to pant heavier, mouth open against his collarbone. Even needs it, he’s sure, and it’s better to go slow, however impatient he might be.

After a while, Even lifts himself up a little and then pushes back down, and he moans so loud Isak is pretty sure that if someone is awake on the other side of the wall, they’ll have no doubt about what’s going on in here.

Not that he cares.

”Careful, baby,” he whispers, and almost bites his tongue at the sudden slip. They’re not _baby_ to each other – how needy and clingy mustn’t that have sounded?

But Even lifts his head from Isak’s shoulder, coming up to stare into his eyes, and the desire, the heat there tells Isak that he didn’t go overboard.

”Say it again,” Even breathes, not letting go of his eyes for a second.

”Careful. _Baby.”_

Even leans forward at that, and catches Isak’s lips in a kiss so intense that Isak feels close to blacking out – all open mouths, tongue and heat and moans against each other’s lips – all while Isak’s fingers slide in and out, faster and harder; more reminiscent of actual fucking than prep by now.

His hand and fingers are starting to get tired – but he can’t find it in himself to complain. Not with Even holding his face in his hands like this, eyes black and burning into his, drops of sweat forming on his forehead.

As one of them roll down to catch in Even’s right eyebrow, he removes his hand from Isak’s face and reaches down to grab onto his wrist, keeping it still to push down even harder.

It’s easily the hottest thing Isak has witnessed in his whole life. Seeing Even throw his head back, mouth half-open, fucking himself on Isak’s fingers – it’s mesmerizing, almost magnetic. Isak can’t stop looking. He can hear a strangled sound catch in his own throat, and realises that he’s been holding his breath.

Even opens his eyes at that, fire searing through them as he looks down at Isak. And Isak knows there’s no turning back now, when Even leans forward to moan in his ear.

”Now. Like this.”

Isak’s been so fascinated, so focused on making this good for Even that he’s nearly forgotten his own needs, but at Even’s words, he suddenly realizes how turned on, how achingly hard he is. How much he’s longing to be inside of Even, to be as close as he can possibly get.

He turns his head just a little, letting his teeth scrape along the curve of Even’s ear in return, and agrees.

”Like this.”

He’s glad that they were too out of it yesterday to bother to put the condoms away –Isak can reach one from the bedside table without having to draw his fingers out completely. Still, Even makes a whine of complaint at the almost loss.

”You’d better do this, then,” Isak can’t help but smile, and hands him the condom.

Even’s hands are shaking a little as he opens it; from anticipation or nervousness, Isak doesn’t know – but he lifts his hand to stroke Even’s back all the same.

And when Even reaches down between them to roll it on, finally touching Isak’s dick, his head spins for a second from how good it feels. How he’s going to last more than five seconds once he’s inside of Even, he has no idea.

More lube, and as he pulls his fingers out, carefully, Even sighs and puts his hands on Isak’s shoulders to lift himself up. One hand on the small of Even’s back, and the other on his own dick, Isak pulls him closer, lets him feel the tip of his dick resting against his rim.

”Here, baby,” he whispers. ”Go slow.”

Even nods, eyelids heavy, almost closed, as he lets himself sink down, one inch at a time, and Isak has to find all of his self-restraint to just sit there and take him in. To finally feel Even surround him, the pressure of him around his almost over-sensitive head – it’s overwhelming.

But it’s got nothing on seeing Even’s mouth fall open as he comes down even further, all the way  at last, and hearing him moan his name once more.

”Isak. It’s – it’s so –”

”I know,” Isak soothes. ”Just wait a little.”

Even opens his eyes at that, and the look he gives him is so affectionate and open that Isak could almost swear it holds something akin to love. As Even leans forward, his dick slides a little further inside him, and that small movement alone is enough to make them both moan.

Catching Isak’s lips in a kiss that is far softer and more tender than the ones before, Even starts rocking gently, slowly back and forth, like he’s trying out how it feels. It might not be enough – but it feels amazing nonetheless, and a solid, tingling warmth is beginning to pool far down in Isak’s stomach. Soon, something starts to pull and tug inside him, asking for more, faster, further. But this isn’t first and foremost about him.

After a while, Even does start to move faster, eyes closed, cradling Isak’s face between his hands as he does. It’s hard to tell if it’s the increased friction around his dick, or that small, intimate gesture of tenderness that all of a sudden sends a wave of warmth through Isak – like a sense of belonging. Shuddering with it, he lets out a deep sigh, bordering on a moan. Even opens his eyes at that and lifts himself up a little. And when he sinks down, Isak is not the only one who moans.

Even does it again, and again, each time a little faster, with more intent, and it’s all Isak can do not to meet him, to push back up against him and reach even deeper inside. They moan together, in unison, faster, a little louder, one of the most beautiful sounds Isak can ever recall hearing.

Suddenly, Even stills, panting, slowing down almost completely, and a momentary panic shoots through Isak. _I hurt him._

But Even reaches behind himself instead, grips at Isak’s thighs, impatient, trying to make him move his legs in a way that Isak doesn’t get at first. It’s not until Even mutters ”Come on!” and shuffles his calf to the side that he understands. Carefully, so he doesn’t slip out, he comes up to sit on his shins and the soles of his feet instead, knees bent, Even seated on top of him, and this. Erase all previous statements. _This_ is the hottest fucking thing Isak has ever experienced in his whole life. He reaches so deep inside of Even like this, Even’s legs so long that he can easily move while putting the weight on his knees.

He lets his hands come up to rest on Even’s hips, and Even takes his face between his hands once more, just looks him in the eyes and smiles, like this is a secret they share together.

Then, Even lifts himself up again, and starts to move; faster, harder than before. Isak can’t hold back his moans, fighting to keep his hips still. In this position, it would be so much easier to work back against Even, to give in. A high-pitched sound slips out of him at the thought, but he’s not not sure at first that Even actually heard it.

The fire in Even’s eyes, though, tells him all he needs to know. The smile has dropped from his face now, and in its place there’s a look of urgency, of desire and desperation. It’s so hot that Isak can barely stand to look back, like he’s on the verge of breaking if it gets any more intense.

Somehow, it seems like Even can feel it too, as the hands around Isak’s face come up to grab at his hair instead. And this time it’s harder, more uncoordinated, as if there’s no real purpose to it.

Isak had no idea that getting his hair pulled like this would be the biggest turn-on he’d known – but there’s something about the desperation of it, the tingle of pain to his scalp, that almost makes him lose control.

”Even,” he pants, not sure of what he wants to say – only that it’s something, like if he doesn’t let it out he’ll explode, combust, float away from existence.

A slightly harder pull at that, and Even leans forward once more, like he’s holding on for dear life, and hisses into Isak’s ear.

”Come on. Isak. Fuck me.”

The surge of anticipation and promise that floods through him makes Isak almost dizzy with want. His vision spinning, no longer sure what’s up and what’s down, he holds on to Even’s hips as if to steady himself when he eventually, finally, lets go.

The first push of his hips makes Even moan so loud that Isak almost is afraid that he’s too rough, that he’s hurt him, but in the next moment, Even grabs him around his shoulders, pulling himself closer as if to get even more leverage, breath hot against Isak’s ear. As Isak moves his hips up again, Even meets him halfway, throwing his head back, the long expanse of his throat in front of Isak’s face. Isak can’t resist to lean forward the few inches it takes to greedily suck a bruise into the soft skin under his ear, all while fucking up into Even, letting his hands slide up his back to embrace him and hold him in place.

Neither of them cares anymore how loud they are or if anyone can hear them. If Isak wasn’t so mindlessly turned on, closer to the finish line with every second passing, he would probably shy away from the intensity – but there’s no turning back now.

Sensing how close he’s getting, he wants this for Even as well – to let him feel the full magnitude of them, together. He moves one hand away from Even’s back to come down between them, and when his fingers wrap around Even’s dick, the sounds that spill out of him are like nothing Isak’s ever heard before. He tries to match the movements of his hips with his wrist, to let Even fuck into his hand and to make it as good for him as he possibly can. From the way Even lets his head fall forward onto his shoulder once more, panting, burying his nails into his back, Isak can’t help but think that he succeeds. The way Even obviously enjoys this, so much that it almost seems to make him lose control, and that Isak is the one doing it to him – it sets something free inside him, something he won’t be able to hold back much longer.

And then Even suddenly, unexpectedly bites down on his shoulder, sharp stabs blazing down his back, and starts coming between them. Just like the hair-pulling, it could be too much – but the pain, the evidence that Even can’t restrain himself from how good Isak’s making him feel, only serves to draw him even closer.

With Even clinging on to his shoulders like a lifeline, face buried in his neck, he feels the waves rising inside, slowly at first, then rapidly building, and with one final moan he comes, burying himself as deep inside Even as he possibly can, over and over again, letting white heat wash over them to consume them both.

He isn't sure how long they stay like that afterwards, Even straddling his lap, hiding against him, his own arms clutching Even like he never wants to let go. Long enough that they start to cool down, the sweat coating their bodies turning sticky, the cum covering their stomachs starting to dry.

At long last, Even lifts his face from Isak's neck. With a finger, he traces what Isak assumes to be the bite marks on his shoulder, before weaving his fingers gently into his hair and placing a few soft kisses on the tender skin.

Isak holds him.

He can't let go, because what will happen if he does? If he loosens his grip on Even, if Even climbs off of him, goes into the bathroom to clean up, if Even locks the door behind him – what then?

Even can't shut him out. Not yet.

Even cards his fingers through his hair, placing feathery kisses on his neck, his temple, his jaw.

It's all backwards, Isak thinks. It should be Even who's vulnerable, Even who's wondering what this all means, what to do now. He remembers his own first time, how unsettled he felt afterwards, like he'd been turned inside out. Blissfully elated, and yet so… _raw._ But Even just runs soothing hands up and down Isak's arms, over his back, through his hair. Isak can feel Even looking at him. He wants to look back, but doing so would make everything so real. He's not sure if he's ready for that, just yet.

Even places another kiss on his neck, soft and sweet, just a tiny lick on his pulse point that sends shivers through Isak, and rests his head on Isak's shoulder. It's heavy, a good weight, the kind that settles, gives Isak a chance to focus on something besides his nerves.

“That was amazing,” Even mumbles against his skin. “You're amazing. Thank you.”

It's the _thank you_ that almost makes him want to cry. It makes it so obvious that this was all just an experiment to Even after all, a one time thing. Why else would he say thank you, if he didn't also mean _goodbye?_

Isak squirms under him.

“Yeah,” he whispers, finally. “It was… good.” _Incredible, fantastic, earth shattering,_ his brain supplies. “I should probably go… shower.”

He can feel Even deflate in his arms.

“Oh.” He lifts his head from Isak's shoulder, takes his hands out of his hair, leaving them to hang limply to his sides, like he isn't sure what to do with them. “You don't want to… stay?”

Everything in Isak is screaming at him to say yes, to hug Even tight again, to wrap his arms around him and cuddle down under the covers and never, ever leave. And it makes him suddenly, inexplicably furious, because why does Even have to make this so _hard?_ Why can't he just let Isak go to try to get past this, try to let go of him, try to get it to stick in his thick skull that Even is _not for him?_

“You don't have to,” he says, and he doesn't even make an effort to keep his bitterness from seeping into his voice. “I – I know this was just… I know you just wanted to try it out. I know you're straight.”

And when he’s said that, he finally manages to look at Even.

He's not at all prepared for what he sees.

Even looks wounded. Devastated. Betrayed. His blue eyes are dimmed, his brow furrowed.

“Right. Okay.” He crawls off Isak's lap and sits on the side of the bed, pulling the duvet over his naked lap. “Maybe you should go.”

He doesn't look up as Isak scrambles off the bed and starts trying to gather up his clothes from the floor: jacket, shirt, bow tie, socks and shoes. He's got everything apart from his underwear when Even speaks again, his voice dripping with venom.

“I'm not, though. Straight. And this wasn't just to _try things out.”_

Isak stops mid crouch, looking for his briefs beneath the bed.

“But… Sonja.” He knows already as the words are leaving his mouth that that is definitely the wrong thing to say.

Even has his hands folded in his lap, and is staring at them like they're the most interesting thing in the world, but at Isak's words, he looks up, eyes flashing with anger.

“Just because I had a girlfriend,” he says, with the resigned fury of someone who's had to make the same argument too many times for it to be funny, “doesn't mean I'm straight.”

And Isak knows this, he _knows._ Hell, he's had this conversation with Eva so many times – he's even been the one to make that argument, when she wasn't sure if she, who'd only ever been with guys, belonged at Pride.

Fuck.

He drops down to the floor, discarding the pile of clothes in his arms to scatter in front of him.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbles. “I – I shouldn't have assumed.”

“No. You shouldn't have.” Even's voice is still prickly with disappointment. Isak wants to smooth it out, wants to make it all better, wants the happy, relaxed, excited Even to come back – but he doesn't have a clue where to start.

“I'm an idiot,” he says, finally. Even doesn't answer, but Isak is pretty sure he agrees. “I just… at Eskild’s bachelor party, when we were at Elsker. You seemed so uncomfortable, and I guess I just thought that… It was because you were… I don't know. Uncomfortable around gay people.”

Even finally looks at him.

“You thought I was a homophobe?” He sounds, if possible, even more hurt, and Isak draws his knees up to his chest, suddenly very aware of how naked he is.

“No! Definitely not! Just… inexperienced.”

Even stares at him, his intense gaze back in full force, and Isak can feel his cheeks heating up under it. Fuck, if only he could just sink through the floor.

“Isak,” Even says, and at least he doesn't sound as angry anymore, just… exasperated. “I _am_ inexperienced. Sonja and I only just broke up a few months ago, and she's the only person I'd ever been with. We'd been together since we were _fifteen.”_ He looks away for a second and takes a deep breath, before fixating Isak with his gaze once again. “And I was nervous because of _you.”_

The words slam into Isak like a door.

Because of _you._

Because of _you._

Because of _you._

What does that mean? Why would he, of all people, make Even nervous? Even! Who is gorgeous, and magnificent, and charming in a way Isak could never even hope to come close to.

Besides, they barely even knew each other before that party.

Even is staring at him expectantly, but all Isak can do is stare back. Nothing is making any sense at all right now.

Finally Even sighs, and breaks eye contact.

“Why do you think I was even there, Isak?” he says to his hands. “Think about it. All of you who've known Eskild for years, and then me, who's just his colleague. It doesn't make sense, does it?”

Isak tries very hard to think about it, and he's pretty sure there's a fairly simple explanation, but he can't get his brain to slot the puzzle pieces together.

“Do you remember, last fall? You came by the school to talk to Eskild, for some reason, and you were leaving his office just as I was entering, and I had my arms full of exam papers, so you held the door for me.”

Isak can't honestly say that he remembers. He can't think of any reason why he'd been to visit Eskild at his job – but he supposes that if Even says he did it must be true, so he just nods.

“And Eskild could tell that I noticed you, so then when we had our next after-work beer he invited you along.”

And Isak _does_ remember that. How Eskild had specifically introduced him to Even. How mesmerized he'd been by him, by his laugh when his colleagues made stupid jokes, by the way he licked foam off his upper lip. How disappointed he'd been when Even's girlfriend came up in conversation.

Even had noticed him.

“Oh.”

He thinks that there's probably more he wants to say, wants Even to know – that he noticed him too, that it barely feels real that they're here, in bed together – but his mind is blank, wiped spotlessly clean by the revelation that Even had noticed him, too. _Even._ Had noticed _him._

He can hardly take it in.

“And then at the bachelor party, when we made out… I really thought we… I thought that was, I don't know, _something._  But maybe I just don't get you, Isak.” He sounds so unhappy that Isak can physically feel his heart cracking.

He can't stand it any longer, he has to be closer to Even. He scrambles up from the floor and goes to sit by him, taking one of his hands out of his lap, and Even lets him, although he doesn’t say anything.

“You weren’t wrong, Even. I – I just didn't think… Even if you _were_ into guys I couldn’t believe someone like you’d be into… someone like me.”

Even still isn't looking at him, but he can hear him scoff softly. Isak draws a deep breath for the next part. “And I thought it would be worth just being an experiment, if it meant that I got to kiss you.”

Beside him, Even makes a tiny sound, of surprise, maybe, or disbelief. “You really think I would treat you like that? Like an experiment?”

“No!” Isak wants nothing more than to dive down and hide under the bed. In hindsight, it all seems so fucking stupid. “No. It’s just that – I really wanted to kiss you. But I guess it wasn’t worth it.”

Finally, _finally,_ Even turns to look at him, straight in the eye, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I get it if you think I’m selfish, for wanting that. And – I didn’t mean to assume things about you. About you being straight, or – anything else – and I’m really sorry. And I get it if you don’t want me to stay now, and –”

Even interrupts him by lifting his free hand to his cheek, thumb carefully grazing across his chin. “Isak.”

“Wh –”

Even puts his thumb to his lower lip, and it’s so reminiscent of when Isak took it into his mouth last night that the movement alone is enough to stop him talking, brain going off in a million different directions at once.

“Stop overthinking. You had me when you said you were sorry. It’s okay. Just let me decide for myself what I want, alright?”

Isak can’t help but nod, still finding it hard to talk from the thumb on his lip and the jumble in his head.

“What – what do you want, then?” he finally manages.

Even’s eyes turn darker again; he bites his lip, and Isak finds his gaze drifting to it, lingering on the swell of Even's bottom lip as he releases it from between his teeth.

He can tell from the way Even's eyelids grow heavier that Even notices him looking.

He's just about to ask Even if he can kiss him again when his phone buzzes from somewhere on the floor. He means to leave it, but Even leans down and grabs his slacks from the pile of clothes.

Isak fishes out his phone and opens it one-handedly. It's almost out of battery.

“It's Noora,” he says, unable to suppress the annoyance in his voice. “She's wondering why I'm not at brunch.”

Even hums in response.

“We can go if you want?” he says, but there's something in the uptick at the end of the sentence that makes Isak think that he doesn't really want to.

The brunch had mostly become a thing because Vilde had heard something about it from some coworker, and managed to convince Noora that it was a necessary part of a wedding and that all the guests would feel slighted if there wasn't one. Isak was never really convinced – and honestly, he doesn't think Eskild was, either. In fact, he'd made the argument that he planned to still be drunk the morning after the wedding, alternately doing unspeakable things with his new hubby. But Noora had been relentless, and so a brunch had been planned.

Isak still isn't sure why his presence is mandatory.

Even raises his eyebrows expectantly. His hair is a tangle, and there's a sheen of sweat covering his chest. His lips are even more red and puffy than usual.

He looks like some sort of classic painting. Isak suddenly wishes he knew anything at all about art history, so he could say what kind.

Eva's words suddenly echo through his mind. Maybe it actually is possible to meet someone at a wedding.

“I guess we could…” he says, dragging it out just in case he misread Even, and he'd actually very much like to go to the brunch. “What do you think?”

A smile spreads over Even's face, bringing out every last crinkle around his eyes.

“I think I’d rather stay here with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> We are [champagneleftie](https://champagneleftie.tumblr.com) and [irazor](https://irazor.tumblr.com) on tumblr, come say hi!


End file.
